Unfiltered Thoughts on Surf Culture

GUEST POST: CLOWNS EVERYWHERE

Editors Note: PostSurf is proud to again feature the work of Gra Murdoch via his blog Inside the Goldmine. Although Mr. Murdoch is an Australian national, the following entry should resonate for any American surfer who recently "surfered" through the hype of Hurricane Bill or The Great South Swell of July.

Global Clown Congress Descends on Local Break.

TOONALOOK POINT, EAST COAST AUSTRALIA: Circus lovers of all ages were treated to an unexpected day of delights as winter's last decent swell coincided with the arrival of a contingent of clowns from the world over.

First to arrive on the scene was renowned circus tramp Otto Griebling, who cut a lonely figure, waxing his clown-board under a solitary street light in the pre-dawn darkness.

Otto, who paddled out off the beach, rode several waves on the end section in a mournful manner, suggesting that his was a lonely existence indeed. Early rising onlookers were said to be close to tears.

Witnesses report this melodramatic opening act was shortlived, however, as a several tiny cars swerved comically into the carpark and began disgorging implausibly large numbers of occupants. As many as twelve representatives of the famed Brazillian clowning and tumbling fraternity were seen falling out of a single early model Suzuki Swift.

Anyone else find it odd that Samuels chose a guest post that includes the word custard? And mentions SUPs? In the same sentence?

“As the tide dropped and the swell became less consistent, several custard pie skirmishes were reported from the lineup, the most intense exchanges occurring when ageing campaigner Chester Sherman appeared on a Stand Up Paddleboard with a unicycle and a separate set of handlebars, giving the appearance of a bike-that-comes-apart.”

To sprinkle more than a dash of spicy conspiracy into this thoeretical cauldron, click on my name . . . seriously . . . do it! Now!

Beware readers of PostSurf, CustardGate’s fuckery will make TurtleGate’s fuckery appear like child’s play. Don’t believe me, take a look at this: http://www.custardpoint.com/

Like so much other gang graffiti, the Custard Point gang’s big red “x” over “Longboard House Surfshop” indicates it’s dominion over the Cornwallian SUP market. I can assure you that this dominance was achieved not by a dusty handshake under the flickering flourescent lights of a grassroots Cornwall shaping bay, but by intimidation and unchecked Mini Mal fuckery.

Is Samuels the Custard Point Gang’s Yankee shill? Is he merely feigning his disdain for SUP’s at the CPG’s behest?

Bagels girl is hooking up behind his back with a semi-pro SUP on the daily while watching ESPN First Take. Bummer. It’s not all the worlds SUP’s fault or hers. It’s yours. J/k bro your SUP rants are entertaining.

LEWIS SAMUELS……WHAT IS YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION??!! WHAT IS THIS FIXATION THAT YOU HAVE WITH TURTLE FORNICATION??! DID YOUR MAMA NOT HUG YOU ENOUGH??!! ARE YOU GOING SECTION-8 ON ME??!!!

NOW HEAR THIS SAMUELS….WHILE THERE MAY BE THE OCCASSIONAL SICK, DEMENTED, DEVIANT FUCK THAT ENJOYS THE EXPLORATION OF TURTLE ANATOMY…HELL, WHEN I WAS STATIONED IN GUAM BACK IN 87…NEVERMIND THAT….THERE IS NO INTERNATIONAL TURTLE CONSIPRACY!!!!DO YOU UNDERSTAND??? THERE IS NO TURTLE CONSPIRACY….ANYTHING YOU HAVE SEEN WAS JUST A BAD DREAM, YOU GOT THAT!!!

NOW GET BACK TO THAT MACBOOK AND CONTINUE CHURNING OUT MY BELOVED POSTSURF, SCUMBAG!!!!!

No clowns in Hawaii! Nope. Not a one.
None at V-land. None at Rockys. Especially none at Pipe/Backdoor/OTW.
Kaisers is clownfree. As is Bowls, since Mark moved back to Cali.
Oahu’s lack off clowns is so great, that the ALOHA welcome mat has been, yet again, set out for all,
yes, all clowns; Brazilians, Floridiots, Californians, inbred drunks from the penal colony, even Lewis, to come and share the happy, smiley, gaeity known as North Shore Winter.
Bone up on your clownliness and book your tickets for the Greatest Show On Earth.
See ya’ll under the Big Top!

I can’t be bothered to click on the link featuring a picture of a bunch of clowns. Sgt. Cock is funny. BR’s lame follow-up of his post a few days ago sucked old clown balls. Is RIP’s postsurf prophesy actually being fulfilled? Hope not.

Once man masters time travel, I know the first place I’m going. Oahu, December of 1995. I’m handing Slater a pie to smash in the unsuspecting face of Rob Machado after getting spit out of the winning tube. When Machado extends his hand for a gracious high five, BLAMMO! Pie to the face!

Or maybe I would go back to the very first pie thrown by a clown into someone’s face. You might expect to hear an unbridled chorus of laughter. But I think actually there would be a respectful silence in recognition of the perfection of the act. So innocent and pure. They had no idea how many pies would follow.

We, the Street Sweepers Union 243, announce our union’s official boycott on breakfast bagels. Our organization is growing and once we invade all your spots Jamon, it will be lunch time and you’ll be obsolete.

Well, here you are at your college graduation. And I know what you’re thinking: “Gimme the sheepskin and get me outta here!” But not so fast. First you have to listen to a commencement speech.

Don’t moan. I’m not going to “pass the wisdom of one generation down to the next.” I’m a member of the 1960s generation. We didn’t have any wisdom.

We were the moron generation. We were the generation that believed we could stop the Vietnam War by growing our hair long and dressing like circus clowns. We believed drugs would change everything — which they did, for John Belushi. We believed in free love. Yes, the love was free, but we paid a high price for the sex.

My generation spoiled everything for you. It has always been the special prerogative of young people to look and act weird and shock grown-ups. But my generation exhausted the Earth’s resources of the weird. Weird clothes — we wore them. Weird beards — we grew them. Weird words and phrases — we said them. So, when it came your turn to be original and look and act weird, all you had left was to tattoo your faces and pierce your tongues. Ouch. That must have hurt. I apologize.

So now, it’s my job to give you advice. But I’m thinking: You’re finishing 16 years of education, and you’ve heard all the conventional good advice you can stand. So, let me offer some relief:

1. Go out and make a bunch of money!

Here we are living in the world’s most prosperous country, surrounded by all the comforts, conveniences and security that money can provide. Yet no American political, intellectual or cultural leader ever says to young people, “Go out and make a bunch of money.” Instead, they tell you that money can’t buy happiness. Maybe, but money can rent it.

There’s nothing the matter with honest moneymaking. Wealth is not a pizza, where if I have too many slices you have to eat the Domino’s box. In a free society, with the rule of law and property rights, no one loses when someone else gets rich.

2. Don’t be an idealist!

Don’t chain yourself to a redwood tree. Instead, be a corporate lawyer and make $500,000 a year. No matter how much you cheat the IRS, you’ll still end up paying $100,000 in property, sales and excise taxes. That’s $100,000 to schools, sewers, roads, firefighters and police. You’ll be doing good for society. Does chaining yourself to a redwood tree do society $100,000 worth of good?

t has always been the special prerogative of young people to look and act weird and shock grown-ups.
Idealists are also bullies. The idealist says, “I care more about the redwood trees than you do. I care so much I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. It broke up my marriage. And because I care more than you do, I’m a better person. And because I’m the better person, I have the right to boss you around.”

Get a pair of bolt cutters and liberate that tree.

Who does more for the redwoods and society anyway — the guy chained to a tree or the guy who founds the “Green Travel Redwood Tree-Hug Tour Company” and makes a million by turning redwoods into a tourist destination, a valuable resource that people will pay just to go look at?

So make your contribution by getting rich. Don’t be an idealist.

3. Get politically uninvolved!

All politics stink. Even democracy stinks. Imagine if our clothes were selected by the majority of shoppers, which would be teenage girls. I’d be standing here with my bellybutton exposed. Imagine deciding the dinner menu by family secret ballot. I’ve got three kids and three dogs in my family. We’d be eating Froot Loops and rotten meat.

But let me make a distinction between politics and politicians. Some people are under the misapprehension that all politicians stink. Impeach George W. Bush, and everything will be fine. Nab Ted Kennedy on a DUI, and the nation’s problems will be solved.

But the problem isn’t politicians — it’s politics. Politics won’t allow for the truth. And we can’t blame the politicians for that. Imagine what even a little truth would sound like on today’s campaign trail:

“No, I can’t fix public education. The problem isn’t the teachers unions or a lack of funding for salaries, vouchers or more computer equipment The problem is your kids!”

4. Forget about fairness!

We all get confused about the contradictory messages that life and politics send.

Life sends the message, “I’d better not be poor. I’d better get rich. I’d better make more money than other people.” Meanwhile, politics sends us the message, “Some people make more money than others. Some are rich while others are poor. We’d better close that ‘income disparity gap.’ It’s not fair!”

Well, I am here to advocate for unfairness. I’ve got a 10-year-old at home. She’s always saying, “That’s not fair.” When she says this, I say, “Honey, you’re cute. That’s not fair. Your family is pretty well off. That’s not fair. You were born in America. That’s not fair. Darling, you had better pray to God that things don’t start getting fair for you.” What we need is more income, even if it means a bigger income disparity gap.

5. Be a religious extremist!

So, avoid politics if you can. But if you absolutely cannot resist, read the Bible for political advice — even if you’re a Buddhist, atheist or whatever. Don’t get me wrong, I am not one of those people who believes that God is involved in politics. On the contrary. Observe politics in this country. Observe politics around the world. Observe politics through history. Does it look like God’s involved?

The Bible is very clear about one thing: Using politics to create fairness is a sin. Observe the Tenth Commandment. The first nine commandments concern theological principles and social law: Thou shalt not make graven images, steal, kill, et cetera. Fair enough. But then there’s the tenth: “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbor’s.”

Here are God’s basic rules about how we should live, a brief list of sacred obligations and solemn moral precepts. And, right at the end of it we read, “Don’t envy your buddy because he has an ox or a donkey.” Why did that make the top 10? Why would God, with just 10 things to tell Moses, include jealousy about livestock?

Well, think about how important this commandment is to a community, to a nation, to a democracy. If you want a mule, if you want a pot roast, if you want a cleaning lady, don’t whine about what the people across the street have. Get rich and get your own.

Now, one last thing:

6. Don’t listen to your elders!

After all, if the old person standing up here actually knew anything worth telling, he’d be charging you for it.

Lewis, trust me, it’s not that your posts are growing stale; rather, it’s that your otherwise developmentally disabled readership’s literary taste is growing more and more discerning after each of your posts. (Not to mention their average attention span is more mercurial than Ultra Violet’s fame duration.)

Ahhhh . . . the conundrum. To pander to the desires of the lowest common demoninator and subsequently forego assisting in the betterment of said demographic’s mentation? Or, to adhere to the renegade brand of superciliary, quasi-journalism you’ve pioneered and, in the process, augment the collective intelligence quotient of the world’s surfing population by even the most vanilla-wafer-thin of margins?

I say: Rock on to the idiosyncratic beat of your internal fuckery mechanism!

p.s.-Yes, Mike, CustardGate is upon us. The Custard Point Gang is preparing to go District 9 on our non-SUP asses!

@Raspblatz: Why would Jamon have a “girl”. Jamon has girlssss. They seldom stray. But if one should wish to experience flaccid SUP sex, well, that would be its own punishment.

PS I’m still waiting for some intelligent response here…usually the wrong side of an argument calls names and ignores the actual issue, to wit, SUPs are wave-stealing machines that destroy the natural order of surfing (not to mention the slow, zombielike nature of the “surfing” once the wave is caught).

@ Everyone Else: Where’s the outrage? I feel like Cartman in the “Hippies” episode. I’m trying to warn you, and you just don’t see the threat. Just wait till we’re drilling through Suppies with a steel-hull WWII open ocean tug, just save our own lives!

Packed up the giant hot wheels, adorned with large, as in cover the entire rear window style, decals: Bullyʻs, Volcom, Tough Guy, OC meets SC lame lard clown ass.
I have been wanting to surf up north, flex a little muscle at the beach, the wife with her new fake tits likes to tan them for me. Luckily, it was sunny at Florida Mile.
Instead of pot I chose to bring crack to share with the Santa Cruz locals I met earlier this summer at Pascualeʻs. The guys are pretty outrageous on crack; Flea, Bruno, Vince, Barney; you should see Barney do art on crack, just like a little kid, he goes nuts. Donny, the local heavy shook my hand when we got to the cove ( I know him from “unofficial contests”) and he said, ” Letʻs see what you can do? Canʻt just show up to the beach looking pretty, letʻs see SOMETHING!”
I paddled out to the main peak, my bald head and sideburns felt cold, my new ʻtat of Jesus Rising out of a wave itched like a motherfucking slow guy in the fast lane. The waves were 4 foot Hawaiian and daunting…
To be continued…

@OCSN….basically, but fuck it! I’m still a retard minus keyboard, but I have a large veiny cock, so that’s ok!! Fake tits are ok with me, too….they still give me a boner.

@ Assclown….that commenter is an imposter with penis envy, I would never eat a clown…although that was sort of funny. I think it would be fun to wait behind cars in the carpark and execute a sneak attack of pies in the faces of OCSN and his crack-smoking buddies and run fast whilst cracking up……that would be cool, or perhaps cover them in my glue.

OK, Lewis, the new name of this site is “POST-SUP”, and its mission is to create a better, brighter, SUP-free world…

…a world where we paddle out on our bellies like the real men (and fake women) we are.

…a world where the fittest and smartest can get their share of waves, and where even they can’t get every wave.

…A world where no one has to worry about being mowed down by 265lb. law enforcement officers on 12′ barges waving blade-like paddles as they blow yet another set wave or flounder in the pit.

…A world where one can look out toward the sunset and see…the sunset! Instead of 7 fat asses standing there on skiffs.

Hammy has a dream people! Join this sandwich in creating a newer, more delicious reality… Together we can restore the spirit of surfing, then get back to beating the crap out of each other for trivial reasons.

“As it was in the beginning, well, it won’t quite be like that, but maybe we can get it back sort of toward the middle.”

Driving north towards Maverickʻs my wife decided to sit topless in the passenger seat. She flashed quite a few shocked and amazed drivers, awed by the size of her breasts and my lifted truck which I keep rambling at a steady 70 mph no matter what or who is front of me.
Sheʻs crazy that way. The wife.
With my right fist probing her inner thigh I thought, ʻonward through the fogʻ as it enveloped us @Half Moon Bay. We stopped for clams at Princeton, our waiter with an obviously botched but corrected hairlip said he was a regular out there at the point and that he had supʻd 2ʻ waves at Ocean Beach earlier in the day. He told us that ha had recently lost his “regular day job” due to cutbacks at Highway Patrol dispatch office, where he had worked for 12 years.
He invited us to his place, if we wanted, and offered us his extra room.

Frankly, this site has gone significantly downhill. Your holier than thou routine is getting old and it’s become one big strokefest for the surf industry. Move on to something else (perhaps a celeb gossip site) or at least go back to actually reporting on surfing.

And the majority of the comments are pathetic too. Parasites, feeding off of Postsurf’s rotting carcass.

p.s. Cote is only welcomed into my life when I’m taking my morning dump. For our sake please get off this site and back to your magazine. The last few issues have sucked and I blame you being distracted at the workplace.

And while I stood there
I saw more than I can tell,
and I understood more than I saw;
for I was seeing in a sacred manner
the shapes of things in the spirit,
and the shape of all shapes as they must
live together like one being.

Fucking Bagel, stay on point. You’re wavering more than a democratic majority to a drug addled radio host with no vote. Conviciton, even for breakfast sandwichs, is highly revered. Just stop baking yourself with partially hydrogenated oils no matter how glassy they make your farts.

Street Sweepers Union 243 must be confronted and driven back to San Onofre. The stakes are too high for Jamon to roll around in the croissant of depression.

How is dropping your subscription price brown nosing pro’s, CCote? How about hiring a real writer to write about what all the dim fucks on this website do everyday and give the corporate puppets (pros) a pass. That or feature Erica H swimsuit editions every month…. that would do it. There is no publication that devotes itself to surfing outside of the puppets, none. Might be worth a try, give George Herron a reason to take your mag out of the bathroom occasionally.

Hey Cote, why don’t you feature my effort to make the CT? Heat scores, expression session air success and I still make my mail route each and every day. Multi tasking, versatile and diverse….. a euro pro moving and shaking up the ladder of sterile homogeny towards Tim Boal status. Yeah, neither sleet, rain or hail……

This graphic clip shows the sick pleasure that Mr Mooney takes in violating his innocent victims until he satisfies his own primal urges. Turtles around the world are living in fear of Mr. Mooney, a fear that will not subside until his capture and arrest.

@Mike. You’re right. I just needed a single voice to bring me back. I was rolling on down to the local SUPermarket to cave in, visions of paddling myself out on a fat 10 footer to steal waves from the surfers while drinking from a beer helmet and keeping the angry at bay with a waterproof .380 sidearm.

But NOOOOOOO…. we fight on, like the last humans fought the machines in the Matrix, like Flava Flav fights the power, like Rzzzbzzzzphlph fights for every bowel movement!!!

Suzuki Repair Manualshas a virtually endless list of manufacturers, models and vintages that is so comprehensive that you will find yourself trying to catch it out by looking for your old cars on there as well as downloading the guide for your current one. With this information to hand, all you need to concern yourself with is downloading the correct manual and keeping the information close to hand for the hopefully rare occasions when a fault occurs.

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from lewis samuels

PostSurf

PostSurf features the writings of Lewis Samuels, and details the occasionally inspiring world of professional surfing.

There is almost no justifiable reason for this site to exist, other than the fact I promised my dog that I'd procrastinate more creatively this year. Please send the abuse and requests for withdrawal to lewissamuels at hotmail dot com.